


Picture of Something

by strawberrytaxidermy



Category: OMORI (Video Game)
Genre: Accidental Death, Angst and Tragedy, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Canonical Character Death, Childhood Trauma, Hurt No Comfort, Kinda, Other, Panic Attacks, Past Tense, Psychological Trauma, Run-On Sentences, Self-Hatred, Spoilers, Trauma, oh hell nah they all up on spunch bob shit, this is just me struggling to write 12 year old children for 4 pages idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:07:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28592985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberrytaxidermy/pseuds/strawberrytaxidermy
Summary: You just shouldn't have looked.
Relationships: Sunny & Basil (OMORI)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 54





	Picture of Something

**Author's Note:**

> hi again i finished the game and it fucked me UP and i have been dying to write for this part of the story ever since i witnessed it so here you go
> 
> also spoilers (again) for the 'one day left' chapter bc this is the big twist that makes you cry and fucks your mom this is your chance to book it if you havent gotten there and dont want it spoiled
> 
> also based off of this bc apparently a lot of people have yet to see this https://m.imgur.com/a/YmVaYMq

Your eyes were clenched shut, vision blurry with tears, though the setting sun still casted its unforgiving rays through your shut lids through the nearby window. It was a space of red, and it did nothing to sedate your mind, which slowly swelled up and died in the sea of anguish, to forever float along as it continues to rot. In a physical fit, your throat felt like it was closing up. Maybe its walls would slowly collide, fusing itself closed and sealing shut forever. At least that way, you would never have to hear the sound of your own voice admit unspeakable actions in cold honestly. You dug your nails into your skin, because you thought it might awake you. And soon you would again be brought back into your bedroom in the dead of night and lulled back to sleep by the stars outside and your sheets wrapped around you. The thought of such peace made your muscles tense in a painful squeeze. You drove your nails harder into your skin, you thought for a second it might even draw blood. You wanted it to hurt, maybe that would finally wake you. If your self-inflicted pain became so humanly unbearable, you would finally come back to reality. Yet, reality never came. And so you continued to cry.

And when the whisper of another came from behind, you somehow ignored that too. It was painfully desperate in its quiet pleads, yet you didn’t want to look. You knew that whisper from anywhere, and it was all too painful to face. He cried your name few and far in-between, yet it still felt like a mantra. And it made you want to scream and snap and empty yourself out for sheer agony, that way you could have an excuse to be destructive. Then he inched closer, and his voice only got louder, like if he screamed your name loud enough, everything around you would dissolve and your real world would welcome you back home. But instead he just cried out to you from the outside while you kept your head buried in your knees. You wish everything around you would shatter into miserable little pieces. Your mind was white static and his voice was white noise. Soon, he too would know you had destroyed something that was going to be so perfect. It wouldn’t be your secret anymore.

Finally, he got quiet. You felt the weight of his hands when he gently held onto your shoulders and softly cried out for you to _look at me, just listen, everything’s going to be okay,_ because he held onto that saying like a prayer. And even though you knew nothing would ever be the same, he continued to hold you close and sweetly call for you like a mother because that’s all he’s ever done. There was not a hint of malice in that nostalgic sound, and that somehow made it worse. Instead of shedding its skin and blooming into little daffodils around you, it coiled around your entirety and bit you over and over again until your skin remained only as ground for trails of identical punctures. Your best friend was porcelain, even more so than you, and you could hear his voice cracking and you knew he’d eventually break. You knew he was crying too, though he tried to hide it behind uncertain praises. You weren’t sure why he did this. It did nothing to keep you steady. He drew even closer to you, and his shaky breaths against your neck made your skin decompose in their wake. His voice alone was a saccharin song, blanketed in silk and dressed up in child-like formality, like a secret. His words alone were vintage blades that drew all the way down your limbs in unconfident lines without warning and pulled back your skin with nothing less than surgical precision. They made your heart sink to the pit of your stomach, and you knew you couldn’t puke it up. You wished he would go, wished he would stop trying to sway you. It was childish innocence blinded to evil, but you weren’t sure if he knew that. But you also knew he was right, that it was your only way out. _It would be so much easier to say no, had he not wrapped up the offer with a bow, and showered you in undeserved praise, all under a guise of protection and friendship._ You thought, as you picked up her empty vessel, and carried it back down the hall with the utmost care. 

Your friend's little footsteps echoed through the empty house like a signal, and though you tried to be quick to follow as to not keep him waiting, the place of her slaughter kept you at bay. In the fray of a performance, your vulnerability let out a chilling cry, one unable to so easily ignore. And then from beyond the rails that gated you in, you could sense everyone was watching. There was no else except for you and your friend in the house, and everyone’s eyes were on you. You couldn’t have looked above and risked your own ironic, untimely demise, (though looking down would be arguably worse), so you kept your eyes glued to the velvetine carpet draping the staircase, all to avoid their looming judgement. Though you would do whatever you could to avoid facing it, you knew that you deserved it. You would run from consequences forever, because you already knew you deserved even worse. _ You always had been such a screw up, even now there were imperfections in your craft _ . And when the hardwood from the first floor came closer and closer into view, you could hear your friend struggle to slide open the door to your garden. When he finally cracked it open, the winds of late autumn shrieked from the outside. It taunted you.

When you reached the sliding door, you still kept your friend out of view. You still felt their eyes, you knew no one had since stopped watching, and so you had to keep yourself from looking. So you kept your gaze glued tight to the floor, to look elsewhere would’ve been a folly, amateur mistake. You could still see his hand, though, and it was skin hardly masked over bone. He was shaking, and breathing, and letting you go first. Telling you to hurry,  _ please,  _ and though he said nothing more, you both seemed to pick up on the unwritten promise. That everything had to stay under painfully tight wraps, no one could ever know. The two of you would have to stay tight-lipped, for the pressure of tape and stitches had nothing on the wound of eternal unforgiveness. You both knew that. But for _ this _ , you had each other. This guilt they’d share together, even if it never went away and tore everything the two of you had once loved apart. And once you heard the door slam shut behind you, it became clear there was no turning back.

Another gust of wind had blown by and it swept you off your feet and chilled you to the bone. Sitting in the palms of careless hands of the chill, you found yourself unable to decipher what you were being told from afar, but ultimately chose not to question. Marigold light was seeping through the translucent leaves, and the friction of the leaves against one another led by the brutality of the wind created a one-of-a-kind song, and it helped to fill the silence between the fallen angel and the killer. You heard him shuffling behind you, and something inside your head kept warning you to _ keep looking down _ . You notice by the color of the grass that it was succumbing to the chill, which had been slowly normalizing itself in the air throughout the past month or so. Though goosebumps rose on your fair skin, you didn’t fail to notice her arms remained limp and cold in your grasp. That single thought alone made you sick to your stomach, and you could taste stomach acid on your tongue. So again you violently attempted to wring your mind dry, yet as always, it failed. 

You had set her in the lap of the tree, just as you were ever so kindly instructed, and you caught yourself hoping the roots would grow over her body permanently, and the two would become one. As you positioned her just right up against the old oak, the urge to snap your eyes open in a fit of terror and make eye contact with the mess you made became stronger. You knew you were going to break, and you felt your eyes blink back tears again, so before you let yourself go, you shot your head up and stared into the sun. With autumn slowly settling in, the signs of the seasons had gradually trickled their way into the nature of Faraway until all was covered. The colorful metamorphosis of the leaves had collided well with the slowly setting sun, amalgamating into warm, gentle shades that lifted your anxieties away as if they were featherlight. The heavenly glow that broke through the spaces of the tree’s clusters embraced anything it could touch, making even the dying grass seem beautiful. You knew you shouldn’t have been, but you were comforted. It was a one-time-use clutch, completely unusable after one go, but it was something. You would’ve taken anything, then. Anything over breaking down, and bringing your poor friend down with you. Anything over thinking rationally about what you had done, and making yourself sick preparing to confront. Anything over staring at her, because if you looked her in the face just one more time, you knew you nor your friend could’ve mended you back together. You watched a leaf fall, though you didn’t follow it long enough to see it hit the ground. The leaves filled you with warmth.  _ Everything is going to be okay. _

And then the void of silence had overstayed its welcome, and the crunching of leaves beneath rubber soles spoke over the whisper of the tree. The footsteps were fast, and impatient. They were reckless, and you knew why, but the sun was so bright and the sky was so pretty. The wind sounded on cue and blew a piece of hair into your eyes that tickled the bridge of your nose, you didn’t bother to move it.  “I can’t-” you hear “I need-” and the rest was murky until the crunch of the leaves picked up again. And the crunch of the leaves on the ground further captivated your attention towards the ones in the tree. If you had squint your eyes, away to see the tree in full, all the leaves would look orange. But a keen eye could’ve picked out all the colors by name up close. Amber, saffron, striking golds, crimson and scarlet. The strong leaves that lived green like summer time were a bright chartreuse, the weak ones that changed at the slightest hint of chill were umber. Soon, all the leaves would turn grey and shrivel, and soon the branches would again be bare. When you remembered how brutal the winter time was, you savored the presence of the leaves. You heard something being lifted off the ground and being aggressively untangled when you learned to appreciate the leaves. _Everything’s going to be okay._

And then you felt him beside you, his skin touched your arm as he got to work. You felt it, but paid no mind. The pulling of childish material was being used well outside its intended purpose, and his breathing gets faster when another leaf falls. You had felt a weird feeling of safety from standing inside the shadow of the tree. You couldn’t explain it well, though you didn’t push away the feeling. Something about how the tree was so much larger than you, it made you feel as if it could protect you. Though admittedly, you weren’t sure how that made sense. He was standing to your left now and between him and her, it was trial and error. You didn’t want to see it, you didn’t even want to think about it. So when you heard your head say it, you bit your tongue. It didn’t hurt as much as you wish it did, and the leaves still held your attention. 

Normally, he would go for your hand. Interlocking it carefully with his own, sometimes taking both, and squeezing it tightly and reassuringly and never letting go. That time, however, he didn’t even bother reaching for it. He tugged at your wrist joint in a rough grip that made you jolt and his hands had become one with the temperature. He pulled you back inside without a word, and you didn't resist his force. You couldn’t help but humor how the smaller boy was basically pulling you around. He always wanted things under control, especially when it came to you. The inside of your house instantly heated your skin, and again he struggled to close your door. You wanted to offer some help, but by the time you thought of that, he already got it.  _ That wasn’t as bad as you thought it was going to be,  _ and that thought made you hate yourself even more. But it was finally over, and you never had to do that ever again, and neither does he. You wanted to look at him, at last. You thought you were finally ready, but you look up and somehow you find his hand was tightly intertwined with yours, but something felt wrong about it, too.

It made you uneasy, and you tried to pull away, but that just tightened his grip in an inescapable lock. He started saying your name again and then he’s pulling you somewhere, and the more you struggled, the more possessive his grip became.  _ You were being pulled under, the shadows were chasing you. _ You didn’t mean to do so, but you saw him for the first time. Basil was crying again and your name was fragmented and dismembered on his tongue underneath how hard he was breathing. His hand was still in yours, shaking to a worrisome degree. You wanted to let go, but you knew there was no use resisting. You were convinced he was going to faint, and suddenly you found yourself calling out to him, too.  _ You should’ve known this all would’ve ended this way, with the two of you collapsing in on each other at the force of your raw, unstable emotions. _

  
You call his name again and Basil wouldn’t answer, he  _ couldn’t  _ answer. A few more tears fell, and somehow his shaking and hyperventilating stopped in unison. Basil was white and motionless like a ghost, and you still didn’t understand when his pools of turquoise were reduced to nothing. Then somehow, it hit you that  _ there’s something behind him _ , and he screamed your name again and tried to stop you, but by then, it was too late. You looked back to the tree again, no longer aglow with heavenly orange light. It had been entirely consumed by a shadow, and the sky itself was slowly darkening. Though camouflaged with the shadow, you could see the hem of her dress harmonize with the direction of the wind, and an arm hung limply by her side, as if dislocated in the fall. It took but a moment, but when one of her eyes met yours, you became an ideal host. 

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for any grammatical errors i am really tired uhhhhhh idk ill fix it later


End file.
